


a royal exchange

by hansolmates



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Modern Royalty, Poor Jeon Jeongguk, Roommates, he just wants to make friendlies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hansolmates/pseuds/hansolmates
Summary: A she’s the man!au where Princess Camille impersonates her brother Yoongi in order to finish his degree on time while Yoongi is thrusted into princely duties. jeongguk is in the mess purely through room arrangement.
Relationships: Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character(s), Jeon Jungkook/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i really wanted to watch the prince and me and she’s the man yesterday. i watched neither and ended up writing this. enjoy!

There’s something off about Min Yoongi, and Jeongguk has no idea why.

Yoongi’s a textbook perfect roommate. He washes the dishes, doesn’t complain about anything, and stays out of trouble. Hell, he even cooks the  _ best  _ fried rice when Jeongguk comes home late, down to the tightly-wrapped saran plate ready to be heated in the microwave. 

Sure, Yoongi is shy and so is he, but more recently Yoongi’s been so reclusive it’s hard to tell whether Yoongi’s alive or not these days. Jeongguk often twiddles Yoongi’s doorknob just to check-up, but almost always finds it locked. 

He heard nothing but praises over Min Yoongi in school, a hardworking composition major who produces hit after hit. For personal reasons Yoongi stuck to online courses for three years, but for their last semester of senior year, he had to finish his thesis on campus. Jeongguk was excited over the sudden roommate switch (much to Tae’s chagrin) but he couldn’t help but feel nonplussed over Yoongi’s eclectic demeanor. 

From his music demos, Jeongguk expected someone a little rough and tough, not to say he didn’t mind that Yoongi was gentle and  _ daresay _ , a little cute. 

Whenever he asks Yoongi for help on a musical piece, his nose scrunches up and he slams the door in his face. Five minutes later, he’d emerge from his room with the perfect answer to his question, looking ever-so serious and concentrated when explaining that Jeongguk barely had time to register. 

The dorm smells  _ good _ , all the time. Due in part to Yoongi’s extensive candle collection, where he circulates between lighting  _ Eucalyptus Rain _ and  _ Fresh Lavender Linens.  _ When Jeongguk brought up his affinity, Yoongi had the audacity to blush. 

When they share meals together, Yoongi makes a point to cook fried rice and burn the bacon to the point that it’s overly crisp, saying he learned at home that it made the textures dynamic. 

Yoongi ignores any girl’s advancements to them in the off-chance they attend a party together, prefering to sit on the back porch and listen to music. 

And none of those things were suspicious, until one item tied it all together. 

Yesterday Jeongguk spilled matcha on his bedsheets, and he decided to do laundry before the stain set. It wasn’t his week on the chore chart, but out of the goodness of his heart he decided to pick up Yoongi’s basket as well. 

It was only until five minutes into the spin cycle did he notice a petal pink bra swirling in between his Pikachu boxers. 

Jeongguk’s home pretty often, and if he did see or hear a girl, he’d know. Maybe it’s a one-night stand who forgot their delicates? Did Yoongi have a girlfriend? Scratch that, did Yoongi even have  _ friends _ ? At one point, Jeongguk considered Yoongi a pretty decent friend. In the first month of living together, Yoongi would willingly watch movies with him on a whim, and even have deep conversations over bottles of beer and banana milk. As of lately however, it’s like Yoongi is a different person. 

Yoongi’s hiding something, and Jeongguk is sure of it. 

* * *

You’re hiding something, and you have a feeling Jeongguk is catching on, fast. 

Sure, it’s only a four month mission, but you’re hardly at the two month mark when you realize you may be way in over your head. 

University is unfortunately low on the King’s list of priorities for Min Yoongi, but Yoongi demanded at least getting a degree for something he loves before being condemned as a figurehead for the rest of his life. And at the time, it was a valid point. Your brother is too good for royal obligation. 

Royalty is a fickle system, and a part of you wishes you were never born into it. Especially when Yoongi is forced to go on a last-minute excursion to some random-ass diplomat who  _ demanded  _ to see the future King of Illyra or else no trade would be conducted. And so you thought Yoongi would take a semester off. 

Wrong. Two days before his departure Yoongi storms into your chambers with two stylists and a  _ plan.  _

“I don’t know how long I can keep this up for, Yoongs,” you whisper-hiss into your phone, letting your body sink further into the cheap mattress like a hot potato. 

“Hey, it’s not like you’re doing any school work or anything,” Yoongi hides no frustration, biting back just as quietly in the bathroom of the diplomat’s house. “I send you all the assignments, and I’m trying to figure out how to run a goddamn country at the same time.” 

“Being  _ you _ is work!” you whine despondently, “my voice is sore trying to make the bare minimum participation in class, not to mention when I have to explain why my voice sounds nothing like the recordings—” 

“—participation grading is a sham, teachers just hate talking to themselves—”

“—not to mention that my hot roommate is  _ always _ asking me for help on his vocal assignments because you just had to go ahead and make a name for yourself as a musical genius! When you can’t reply fast enough, I have to  _ Google  _ shit. It’s embarrassing!” 

“Wait, wait.  _ Hot  _ roommate? Is this what’s getting you all worked up? You have a hard-on for your hot roommate?” 

“No,” you lie, throwing a blanket under your body. “I can’t have a hard-on if I don’t have a dick, dick.” 

“Listen, sis,” and there’s some hope at the end of the tunnel, because for the first time since he left Illyria Yoongi doesn’t sound grumpy. “If things are going as well as I think they are, I think we can make the switcheroo in three weeks.” 

You sit up straight, clutching your phone between both hands. “You serious, Yoongs?” 

“Yeah, negotiations are pretty much wrapped up. We’re just feigning interest by throwin’ celebration parties n’ shit.” And you can’t help but smile at the way speed picks up in Yoongi’s voice. You remember that night in your room when Yoongi said you should take his place in university. He didn’t want to take a gap because he’s nearly done with the degree and it would only prolong his inevitable reign, but it felt wrong to rob him of that sliver of freedom he always craved. “If all goes well, I can switch my classes up and live in a different dorm.” 

“That’s great,” you reply honestly, because you know this time is his. You’re just a placeholder. 

You could move back to Illyria, and forget about Jeon Jeongguk. 

“I appreciate you, sis,” Yoongi says tenderly, and you wish you could hug him, “hang in there for me, yeah?” 

A loud knocking interrupts your reply, and you mutter a string of curses under your breath. 

“Yoongi!” Jeongguk yells from the hallway, “we need to talk!” 

Throwing your phone, you smooth out your clothes and take a brief one-over in the mirror. You run your hands over your dark, cropped hair, just the way Yoongi liked it. Your brother’s oversized black flannel drapes over your form, easily hiding any potential  _ bumps _ in the plan. 

You run your fingers over your face, draining your face to feign apathy. With a breath you unlock the door, and Jeongguk barrels in, throwing something on your bed. 

You’ve never seen him so conflicted. It’s similar to the way he looks during study hours, brow furrowed and lips pursed. You take in his crossed arms and overall defensive demeanor, ignoring the way his biceps flex tauntingly against his sleeveless shirt.  _ Down, girl.  _

“Something wrong?” you say blandly, a tone you picked up from Yoongi. 

Jeongguk’s cocoa eyes flicker to your bed, and you almost choke on your saliva. It’s your bra. Not just a plain sports bra either, it’s your  _ fancy gala bra _ . You couldn’t part ways with your favorite piece when you left Illyria two months ago. It was  _ La Perla,  _ obviously. It wasn’t his week to do laundry, so you thought it would be okay to chuck your undergarments in the bottom of your basket. 

“Who do those belong to?” your roommate asks lightly, although you can tell he’s starting to sense something’s off. “I don’t remember you mentioning you have a girlfriend.” 

WIthout missing a beat, you reply, “My sister’s.” 

“Your sister’s,” he echoes, looking wholly unconvinced, “you have a sister?” 

“Yep.” you pop, feigning nonchalance. “She’s doing work around the city. I had lunch with her the other day, and she’s leaving sometime next week.” 

“Really, and why haven’t I met her?” 

“Uh, she’s a pretty private person.” Not a lie, the whole reason you’re in this sham is because your job to the royal family is inevitably minor in comparison to your brother’s. 

“And she just decided to throw her laundry in yours?”

“Well, she’s a bit of a princess and sometimes throws in her laundry with mine.” Also not a lie. 

Jeongguk hums, biting the inside of his cheek. “That would also explain the tampons in the trash.” 

_ Damn it. Get it together.  _

All at once, your roommate’s face crumples like a little kid. The stiff facade evaporates, and he slumps his shoulders and warbles over to you, sitting at the edge of your bed. 

You feel a pang in your heart, harder than the others as of late. The first week of moving in as Min Yoongi started with a singular butterfly, tingly over the fact that you would be sharing a living space with an attractive artist. More butterflies joined the party as you realized that Jeongguk’s kind hearted and capable, furthering your need to stay away from him before you slip up. Much like this. 

Lying to him started to become painful. He didn’t deserve to be caught up in your family’s messes. 

“I’m sorry, Yoongi. I didn’t mean to interrogate you.” Jeongguk sighs, carding a hand through his hair. “I’m just, confused? I don’t know, I thought we were starting to become friends n’stuff. But I feel like you’re pushing me away and I haven’t done anything wrong.” scarlet blooms on his cheeks, “and I guess when I saw that bra in the laundry I thought you’d have the decency to at least tell me you had a girlfriend because we used to talk about shit like that.” he laughs, moreso to himself, “which turns out is your sister. I guess I just thought you were hiding things, and I was just overreacting.” 

Oh, words can’t explain how much you want to pull this poor boy into your arms and tell him the  _ truth. _

“Hey,” you murmur, voice cotton soft. You sit next to him, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You have no reason to be sorry.  And I have been a little private, so you have every right to be suspicious.  I’m just going through some family issues right now, and it has nothing to do with you.” 

“Doesn’t mean you can lock yourself in your room for days at a time,” Jeongguk mumbles, and you fight the urge to kiss that pout from his lips.

“I know, I’m doing a poor job of dealing with it.” you admit, more to yourself than him. You fist the cotton of your sheets, letting the cool fabric pool between your fingers. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” 

“You’re not the type to put your heart on your sleeve, and I get that,” he stares into your eyes, the sheer determination in his gaze stunning you. “But you can tell me anything if something’s bothering you. You can trust me.” 

_ But can you trust me?  _

“I know, Guk.” you offer him a weak smile, “thanks.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and you try to collect your thoughts. Three more weeks, and the butterflies can quell. You’ll be thousands of miles away in Illyria, free to forget. 

“So,” Jeongguk bounces on your grey duvet, “any chance I can meet your sister before she leaves?” 

In Yoongi fashion, you grab your pillow and whack the tall boy across the head. “Are you kidding me?” you jest, cackling out of the room to make dinner, “after you’ve seen her bra, you wanna make moves now, huh? You’re not as good as I thought you were, Jeon Jeongguk.”

“W-what!” he sputters, following you out, “it’s not like that, I swear!” 

* * *

Two weeks pass and Jeongguk is in higher spirits. Since that talk, his roommate has made a conscious effort to pick up where they left off. While Yoongi still doesn’t talk much about his family (unfortunately, Jeongguk never got to meet his sister) but nevertheless, they’ve established Marvel Mondays and have been spending more time together. 

He’s earned a well-deserved lunch break. Jeongguk has about an hour to kill before his last class, and his favorite take-out restaurant is right around the corner. The familiar red and gold paper lanterns sway in the wind, begging Jeongguk to sit and relax after two back-to-back classes. After ordering at the register the only available seat is a tiny two-seater in the corner, already occupied by another person. 

“Is this seat free?” 

“Have at it,” the young man replies cooly, not looking up from the iPad he’s working on. 

Jeongguk sits across from him, peering up at him through his own phone. He has dark, windswept hair, the strands haywired as if he were in a rush. Despite his oversized, all black attire, there’s an air of class that Jeongguk cannot put a tack to. The young man undos the first two buttons of his chemise collar, looking stuffy in the small hole-in-the-wall. 

“What are you writing there?” 

“Ah, lyrics,” the man replies, and Jeongguk wonders where he’s heard that deep timbre before. It was velvety, yet raspy. “I’m a comp major.” 

“Nice, I’m doing vocal music.” 

The two of them exchange light conversation surrounding their similar majors, and Jeongguk is heartened by the enthusiasm the young man has as he talks about producing. After a nonsensical debate over synths, a waitress plops two identical plates of fried rice for the pair. Exchanging knowing smiles at the coincidence, they dig in. 

Jeongguk scrunches his nose after the first bite, finding that their rice isn’t hitting the spot like usual.

“What’s wrong, not to your taste?” the young man teases. 

“Nah, nothing like the way my roommate makes it.” he admits. Surely, Jeongguk is spoiled.

“Ah, yeah. Nothing beats my sister’s,” the young man pokes at the rice idly, “she always overcooks the bacon to make them extra crispy. She said it makes the texture  _ dynamic  _ or whatever.” 

Jeongguk’s chewing slows, but he doesn’t bother to reply. The young man fails to notice, eagerly scooping up rice and shoveling it in his mouth. 

“Say, do you know where Westward is?”

“Yeah, I live there.” 

“Nice, you think you could show me if you have time? M’gonna go meet my sister, since I got an early flight. She’ll be so surprised, she might piss her pants when she sees me.”

The rice is starting to feel tacky against Jeongguk’s throat. Forcing himself to swallow, he asks, “What’s your name again? I didn’t catch it.” 

The young man tilts his head, swirling his cup of tea. “I didn’t say it,” he says loftily, “but my name’s Yoongi.” 

* * *

_ extra _ .

“Are you fucking kidding me, of all the people in the world you blab your identity to within  _ three hours  _ of arriving, it’s Jungkook!” 

“How was I supposed to know it was Jungkook!” 

“I literally described him to you, in detail. Did you not read my triple texts?” 

“I’m sorry, but ‘brown hair brown eyes’ is basically describing the  _ entirety _ of the Korean male population at this school.” Yoongi scoffs, wholly insulted that you’ve failed to appreciate his early visit. “I mean, what was I supposed to do? ‘Hey can you lift your shirt so I can see if your six-pack matches her roommate’s six-pack? No? Thought I’d ask.’” 

“You’re disgusting, shut up!” 

“Guys, I’m still here.” 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p2 because im self indulgent :) enjoy!

“I’m sure this is probably the hundredth time you’ve heard since you’ve landed, but welcome to Illyria! The palace welcomes you to your new home away from home.” 

“Ho-ly,” Jeongguk slaps a hand in front of Taehyung’s offending tongue, in case swearing is forbidden on royal territory. Wouldn’t want their scholarships taken away over Taehyung’s potty mouth. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Hoseok, sir?” an exchange student from a university in New Zealand (yet Korean-born, ironically) pipes up, “why does the infrastructure of the building look like that?” 

The student is referring to the ravines of gold metal that stream the walls of the palace. While the architecture is classic, the sheen of the metal definitely gives it an air of regality. 

“Good question, Namjoon. The castle is wired and designed after our main export, Illyrium. The element was discovered in the early 1850s in what is now the ruins of Oros,” Hoseok quips brightly, patting the stone affectionately. “It has a conductivity percentage of 106% percent, more than silver. It is also quite durable.” 

Namjoon’s deep laugh echoes throughout the pavilion, “I was just asking because it makes the castle so beautiful. Thank you.” 

Jeongguk takes the time to snap more pictures of the castle, switching between his Sony and his phone. He zooms in on a low balcony overlooking the terrace they landed from. A figure rolls into his shot, stumbling barefoot with a ruby silk robe swishing between steps. You’re tired, sleep-laden as you clutch a snow white mug between your two hands, leaning your elbows against the metal bearing. You’re staring at nothing and everything, glazed over your backyard that seems to stretch on for eons. 

“You’re right,” Jeongguk marvels at your visage between his lens, “absolutely beautiful.” 

* * *

“Can I please get a better assignment, Jimin?” 

“Your highness,” Jimin frowns, following after you, “you love teaching the exchange students, what has changed?” 

“Exactly, Jimin,” you sigh, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Jimin’s nose nearly bumps into yours, “ _ nothing _ has changed. I teach students every quarter, the same subjects every time. It’s not to say that I don’t love teaching,” you exhale, blowing into Jimin’s honeycomb bangs, “but can’t I have a more challenging assignment? Conversing with dignitaries, renovating the town square, I’ll even do culinary!” 

Your poor secretary squeaks, pushing up his rose gold iPad to carve some distance between you two. “You-you know those jobs aren’t suitable for a Princess,” Jimin cuts himself off once he sees your eyes soften in defeat, “b-but! I’ll see if Hoseok would be willing to take on another class? And maybe we could arrange a presentation to the King in regards to your proposals?” 

“Right,” you smile sadly, folding your arms and stretching the tight blazer your mother forced you in, “as if another  _ Google Slideshow _ will impress him.” 

Jimin squeezes your shoulder, as if he could tell you all the things he could never say through body language. “Showtime’s in two minutes, your highness.” 

You nod, making haste to the large double doors that lead to the main living room. Normally, the scholarship program’s presentation is done in the throne room, a big show of bravado and an ego booster to your family. However, this particular class is entirely post-grad and under ten students, so you figure they were placed in a more intimate area for the sake of comfort. 

Jimin pulls a lint roller out of nowhere, careful to catch every bit of dust that dares meet your presence. You tug uncomfortably at your collar, and give the signal to the door bearer. You fight the urge to flinch at the usual bombastic announcement. 

“Introducing, the Princess of Illyria!” 

The students and staff are bowing when you enter, and you send a look to Yoongi, who only offers you a lazy smirk. It’s a look you’ve feared since childhood, an explicit tell that he knows something you don’t. Nevertheless, you tack on a smile, standing in front of the ten students who are still dutifully lowered. You have to hand it to them, the undergrads would already be turning heads to get a peek at the princess. 

“You may rise,” you voice floats. As mother always said, your voice must replicate a dandelion seed, bouncing in the wind. 

The student directly in front of you elevates, a pair of doe eyes taking his sweet time to appreciate the view. 

Jeon Jeongguk gives you a lazy smirk, mirroring your brother’s. The smile evaporates from your face, taking in the handsome man that you lived with for two months over two years ago. His eyes have certainly not lost their spark, but his hair is trimmed and showing off his forehead. A Sony camera wraps around his neck, held tightly by a strong pair of hands. He’s even dressed brightly, wearing a navy blazer over a plain white tee and a pair of dark jeans. Something twinges in your heart when you see that a familiar pair of black combat boots remain. 

Jeongguk is the first to break eye contact, deciding to at least pretend to care about Hoseok’s presentation on the flatscreen. An overplayed video about Illyria’s history drones on, while Hoseok and Jimin are exchanging schedules in between. You’re sure that Jimin is passing on your word about choosing not to teach this quarter, and now it’s personal. 

This urges the students to take seats on the couches, while staff floats around with various pastries and refreshments. 

Your family takes their respective seats, and you fight the urge to pinch Yoongi as you hiss, “You knew about this?” 

“Surprise,” Yoongi sing-songs, munching on a linzer cookie. “I handpicked all the students.”

“Couldn’t give your sister a heads up?” you snap hotly, making sure no one was looking as you pop a whole cream puff in your mouth. 

“Sorry,” Yoongi leans over the shell of your ear, “Your hot ex-roommate is here, just wanted to let you know before you eat the dessert table.” 

You mouth a  _ fuck you _ , taking a stab at him under the table with your heeled foot. 

After Yoongi’s not-so-subtle reveal of each other’s identities in a crowded Chinese restaurant two years ago, you’ve since cut off all contact with Jeon Jeongguk as you resumed your life as Princess of Illyria. Simultaneously shocked, but not surprised due to the obvious hints of suspicion, Jeongguk had forgiven your lie and allowed you to leave in good spirits. You remember leaving him at the front door of your dorm, hugging you warmly and bidding you safe travels. 

It confused you, because it would've been easier to leave if Jeongguk had gotten angry at the complete breach of trust and kicked you out. 

Hoseok is now presenting a slideshow of the intended schedule and itinerary for all students. You’re now glaring at the back of Jeongguk’s head, trying your damn hardest not to shove three brownies in your mouth in the presence of guests. Your tiny dessert spoon picks pathetically at the measly crumbs, and Jimin is urging you to smile from his position opposite you. 

“And as always, our lovely princess will be conducting our class on Modern Illyrian Anthropology and will be organizing your field studies!” Hoseok practically shouts across the room, where you’re sitting wide-eyed with your family. You feel Yoongi reach over to dab the crumbs off your lips, enjoying your suffering. 

You shoot a look at Jimin who was  _ supposed _ to take care of things, and he gives you a pained expression that reads  _ don’t fire me.  _

With a tight-lipped smile and feigning ignorance to Jeongguk’s interest in you teaching, you reply to the expectant students, “It’s always a pleasure to teach, I promise to not bore you with Illyrian history, that’s Hoseok’s job.” 

“Hey!” he scrunches his nose, then turns to the students who are hiding their giggles, “Better get on her good side if you want a nice field assignment.” he warns good-naturedly, giving you a mock glare. 

You suppose giving Jeongguk a field assignment far, far away from the castle. 

After the long-winded presentation and a handful of brochures, the royal family is escorted out to retire for the day. As the youngest in the family you're the last one to leave.

Out the doorway you hear Taehyung utter, "That's her? What a  _ babe _ !" 

* * *

As to not arouse suspicion, it takes longer than anticipated to get a private moment with Jeongguk. No one but Taehyung and Jimin know of your circumstances, and it is to remain that way due to the fact that you and Yoongi  _ committed fraud _ , royal or not. 

Jeongguk is a quiet student, surprisingly. Choosing a seat by the window, he spends most of your classes doodling and looking out the pavilion. As stimulating as Namjoon and Irene’s questions are, you’re a little disheartened at the fact that Jeongguk has made little effort to talk to you, even if it’s as impersonal as classwork or office hours. 

Today Hoseok’s teaching, and that gives you ample time to work out where you want to assign the students for field study. You’ve shaken off Jimin for now, and you’re currently roaming the halls with your phone, checking off your schedule. 

_ Called the Museum of Modern Illyrian Art for Namjoon … check.  _

_ Sent staff to the villa in prep for the kiddies’ weekend getaway … check.  _

_ Sent e-vites and physicals to the Genovian royals … next. _

_ Find a quiet corner to stress cry before 2:30— _

A hand flies out of nowhere, grabbing your waist roughly and throwing you in a small room. The hand clasped over your mouth swallows your scream as the door shuts tight. 

The captor turns on the singular lightbulb, grinning at you like a madman. “Hey Princess—what the fuck!” 

You grimace, putting down your switchblade that was dangerously close to Jungkook’s jugular. “What the hell, Jeongguk! I could’ve killed you!” 

“Dang, princesses are something else nowadays. Where on your body are you hiding knives?” Jeongguk marvels as if he wasn’t ten seconds away from being dead!Guk, patting down your lavender pantsuit in a way that’s highly inappropriate. “What are you, Ty Lee?” 

“Self-defense secret,” and under your breath you add, “and Mai’s the one who hides knives. Ty Lee’s the acrobat.” 

The grin easily returns to the tall boy’s face, burnt eyes shining against the naked bulb. This is the most emotion you’ve got out of him since classes started, and it’s doing nothing to ease the butterflies in your stomach. “So, come here often?” 

“To the storage closet?” you snort, “not particularly.” 

“And where’s a place I can go that you do come often?” 

“My office hours,” you deadpan, “in which you haven’t visited, by the way. As a friend and as a teacher, I’m insulted.” 

A low whine erupts from his throat, and he leans against the shelves, long arms spread across the three-ply toilet paper. “But your little secretary’s always there. It’s awkward when we’re not alone. I don't know if I should act like a friend or a student. Speaking of, where is he?” 

“Ah, Jimin’s getting Starbucks.” 

“Lit, can you tell him to pick me up a pink drink?” 

“No,” but you send a text to Jimin anyway. “Shouldn’t you be in class?” 

“I’m supposed to be coming back from the bathroom,” he air-quotes, “AKA, running around the palace until I can corner you.” 

You sigh, fiddling with the hem of your blazer. 

“Are you annoyed at me?” and for a second, Jungkook’s eyes betray a hint of vulnerability. “Am I being too forward? Or do you not want to catch up? I don’t know, I figured you’d be excited to see me but you’ve just been so busy.” 

“Jeongguk,” you put a hand on his shoulder, ceasing the rambling. He opens his mouth to add more, but you squeeze his bicep. “I’m not annoyed at you. I’m annoyed at the situation. I’ve missed you,” you offer him a shy smile, and he returns a small, hopeful one in return, “but you’re right, it’s been really busy with the usual duties and I’ve been a little on edge with keeping things together without letting any secrets out.” 

You’re also confused as to why you’re still harboring feelings for him, but that’s another secret you keep to yourself. 

“Well, your duty is doo-dy.” Jungkook huffs, but is placated by your confession. “Don’t worry Princess, I’ll think of something.” 

A knock startles the both of you, and Jeongguk squeaks, brandishing a plunger in defense. With a dainty finger, you push the plumbing tool back to the ground, as the knockings did not stop. 

“Ohmygod—am I going to be beheaded for kidnapping the Princess?” Jeongguk panics and checks his phone, realizing his bathroom break turned into a straight up game of hooky. “Do you guys still behead? I mean if you’re pulling out knives from who knows where—” 

“Guk, relax,” recognizing it immediately as a code between you and your brother, you swing the supply closet open. 

Yoongi looks between the two of you, gauging the situation. When he notices that  _ no,  _ you two did not just romp between the 3-ply and were in fact only talking, he huffs. “Losers,” he mutters under his breath, hiding a grin as he leaves you two to splutter. 

* * *

It’s already well over twenty minutes past your class time, but Taehyung just wouldn’t  _ shut up. _

You can’t blame him, he’s thrilled that you managed to snag him a field study with your personal couture designer. He’s lit up like a good boy on Christmas eve, getting his present early. He’s gushing about how excited he is to use authentic Swarovski crystals and rub noses with the fancy fabrics. 

“I’ll make you the  _ perfect  _ dress for the upcoming gala, Your Highness.” Taehyung’s vibrating in a manner you never imagined on a human before.

“Thank you,” you reply awkwardly, “I’m sorry, but what gala are you referring to?” 

He shrugs, “I’m sure there’s a gala you have to go to  _ sometime. _ I’ve just always wanted to say that, makes me feel special.” 

“Tae,” Jeongguk is sitting on your desk, heels bumping into the mahogany. With a stiff jerk of his head, Tae’s lips morph into an ‘O’ and he finally gets the hint, bowing to you and scurrying off. 

“Y’know, his fashion’s kind of eccentric.” he nods over to the excessive fur lining on Taehyung’s slippers, “I’d make sure your designer keeps a close eye on him.” 

“And what do I owe the pleasure of your presence,” you click, “twenty minutes after class?” 

Jeongguk has the audacity to roll his eyes, rolling his head back to crack out the stiffness. “The chamber choir, really?” he exhales, dropping the itinerary you spent the better half of your nights preparing. 

You raise your eyebrows, “What? It pertains to your major.” 

“For the past six years all I've done is eat, sleep, and breathe music,” he says, and you’re suddenly reminded that you had a glimpse of that version of Jeongguk two years ago. A slave to the music, as much as he loved the subject, it sometimes felt like a tether that weaved far too deeply under his skin. “Can’t my field assignment be something different? More eclectic?” 

“Do you have anything in mind?” 

“In fact, I do.” Jeongguk lolls his head to the side, chestnut bangs falling softly. “For my field study, I want to shadow the Princess’ duties.” 

You slam your hands down, standing up so you’re nearly nose-to-nose with the young man. “Are you crazy? Do you want Yoongi and I to get caught?” 

“Listen, I’ve thought about it all throughout class—”

“—what? You didn’t listen to my lecture?—”

“—and today in class you mentioned that you graduated with a Master’s in Public Affairs, because in fact I  _ always _ listen to you,” Jeongguk presses a finger to your lips when you try to cut him off, “and lo and behold, one of my minors was in public affairs! What better way to get more experience in the business when I have the master right in front of me?” 

“I don’t know, Guk,” you try, mulling through all the possible situations and horrors that could occur because of it. 

“Princess, we’re killing two birds with one stone!” Jeongguk pleads, giving you the puppy eyes, “not only do I get a far better field study assignment, but it’s far better because I get to spend more time with you!” 

You hate how absolutely weak you’ve become under his gaze. In the span of less than three weeks, Jeon Jeongguk has re-entered your life like he never left. He  _ wanted _ to spend time with you. The selfish part of your brain says you wish the same. Who are you to deny such a simple desire? 

“Fine,” you spit out, putting up a front and pretending to be annoyed, “but you better not get all huffy around Jimin.” 

He shrugs, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Worth it.” 

* * *

“You’re different,” Jeongguk states bluntly, actively ignoring the way Jimin tries to push between you two. Jeongguk continues to press into your shoulder as you weave through the gardens. You’re picking flowers for a specific theme arrangement and pattern. A diplomat from Spain is coming and he is bringing her young daughter. You've heard that she’s recently taken in interest in constructing flower crowns. 

“Well, two years can do that to a person,” you reply airily, dropping a tiger lily in the wicker basket Jeongguk insisted on carrying. 

Having Jeongguk follow you around like a duckling is fun, to be frank. Jimin is no longer hyper-focused on you, forcing him to spread his attention between you and your overly-attentive student. Jeongguk can’t attend every single one of your events because some of the information’s sensitive, but when he does it makes your job feel less of a job and more like a fun group project. 

Like when you and Jeongguk would stumble in the farmer’s market every Sunday morning, hungover but aching to fill your bellies. You two were walking zombies, forcing yourselves out of bed to feed yourselves. But it was always fun because you were together, whenever it was Jeongguk’s turn to pay, you’d sneak in more KitKats for yourself. Whenever it was your turn, Jeongguk would smuggle more cartons of banana milk. 

“No, no. It’s not that,” your friend admonishes instantly, “your personality’s still the same, even though it was Yoongi-fied. Your heart hasn’t changed,” you turn your head sharply towards a field of carnations, concealing your flush. “I mean, you’re more confident.” 

“In other words,” Jimin pipes, looking up from his iPad, “an air of regality.” 

You scoff, putting a hand on your hip and looking expectantly at the two boys. “You’ve changed too, Guk,” you reason, shaking your head. “Old Jeongguk wouldn’t be wearing white dress shirts and shoving princesses in closets.” 

“You shoved the princess in a closet—!” Jimin starts, having half a mind to cancel the field study all together.

“Well, Old Jeongguk didn’t have a chance to really get to know you,” Jeongguk twirls a baby’s breath between his fingers, tucking it in-between your ear. “That’s New Jeongguk’s job.” 

“So, you’re the Princess’ head of security,” Jeongguk tilts his head to look up at the slightly taller man, his visage covered by a pair of shades. The bodyguard is never really present, only when citizens enter the castle or you’re out of town. “You know you’re  _ inside _ , right?” 

The man only slightly inclines his head to acknowledge Jeongguk’s prodding.  _ Hmph, he looks like a talker.  _

“If you’re her head of security,” Jeongguk leans closer, trying to avoid any further attention to his conversation, “do you know where she hides her knives? Because sometimes she wears those tight pencil skirts and I can’t help but wonder—”

“That’s classified.” 

“Alright, where do you hide your knives—”

“Also classified.” 

“Jeongguk,” you relent, sliding your footrest next to your throne, “leave Seokjin alone and come here, please.” 

You can’t blame him. It’s always been a pastime of yours to ruffle Seokjin’s feathers, but you must admit that meeting with citizens is a long and frankly, boring process. The routine is fairly simple, the citizen bows and offers something for the table, and in return you lend your ear and offer assistance if possible. 

“For your table, Your Highness,” the next citizen bows, carrying a foil-lined tray filled with fresh baked bread. 

“Smells delicious, Bertrand.” you beam, ripping open the tin to snatch a hot slice off the top. Rosemary and thyme are egg washed atop the brown bread, and you proffer a piece to Jeongguk, as you could imagine the poor guy is as antsy as ever. “And may I introduce you to my student, Jeon Jeongguk? He’s studying my diplomacy for his field study.” 

Bertrand tips his head, “Lucky you, she’s a true leader.” 

Jeongguk nods shyly, nibbling on the crust. “Truly an honor.” 

Jeongguk offers to bring the gift to the table with the other offerings across the room, and you nod, conversing lightly with Bertrand. His worries are simple enough, he feels pressured by a catering request from an Illyrian Duke, and wishes to serve a party fit for a royal. In resolution, you offer to send a palace chocolatier and chef to help with the preparations. Jeongguk returns to his seat next to yours just as Bertrand leaves. He pulls up his iPad, feigning notes that he should be writing while observing you. 

The next citizen hobbles over, holding a large ivory wicker basket covered by a beige tarp. “For your table, Your Highness,” they bow, “I hope you like omelets.” 

If you weren’t on the throne with an audience of one-hundred, you’d be delivering a very confused expression, coupled with panic. “May I?” you inquire, forcing a smile as you lift open the tarp.

In the basket there are two small jars of marmalade, and one huge chicken sitting fat and proud that its skin overflows between the gaps of the wicker. Its head twitches in your direction, barely turning because its neck is hugely bulbous with excess weight. Its beady little eyes mock you. It smells fear. 

“Her name’s Dixie,” the citizen supplied helpfully. 

“Holy shit,” Jeongguk whispers next to you, but not soft enough for it to not echo in the throne room, “Dixie, you are a  _ thick _ chick.” 

“Jeongguk!” you exclaim, which causes the whole room to reverb at your shrill cry. 

Of course the chicken has to freak out, flapping its wings and freeing itself from the confines of its package. The animal dives for you, and you press yourself as much as you can against the throne. Jeongguk knows no bounds, throwing himself in front of you to catch the large bird. Feathers weave unto his umber tresses as the bird meets gravity, Jeongguk unable to calm down Dixie. 

It’s more or less a wild goose chase (chicken chase?) after that, Jeongguk follows Dixie down the platform and around the throne room. The citizens and staff are clutching their stomachs in laughter, endeared by the young man following the chicken. Jimin is laughing and slapping Seokjin’s shoulder, his face breaking in an unabashed smile. 

And you can’t help but laugh along with them, trying to smother your giggles by covering your face with a silk fan. You peek over the thin fabric to see Jeongguk looking especially concentrated on his mission. It wasn’t like the chicken was going to escape the throne room because the doors are closed, but surely it will be a workout as Dixie’s a trooper and isn’t going down without a fight. 

“Don’t worry Princess, I got this!” Jeongguk’s voice reassures you from the far edge of the throne room. He’s taken a break, but the glint in his eyes show he’s committed to catching Dixie as she scuttles in circles.

He flashes you a breathtaking smile, all gums and pearly whites as he runs a hand through his wavy locks. Your smile falls slightly, and you clutch your fan tighter at the realization. Oh, you are  _ besotted _ . 

* * *

“Hoseok’s had me on my back about teaching a full class before your weekend getaway but I’ve long decided,” you lift your chin haughtily in a way only princesses do, jutting out your lip in confirmation, “that you should enjoy the time you have here. Summer’s almost over. You all should get a headstart on your packing so you can get to the beach early.” 

Your class erupts into hoots and hollers, the Powerpoint presentation about the minerals of Illyria long abandoned. Two months have already passed, and in a couple weeks they’ll be saying their goodbyes. A twinge of sadness hits you as you relish in your students’ happy smiles. As each semester passes, each group leaves something behind you’ll never forget. This summer, as much as you taught them, you’ve learned a lot from them as well.

Students are already starting to pack up, but Namjoon’s butt is firmly planted in his seat, raising his hand. “Sorry, I have a question.” 

You smile goodnaturedly, already used to his usual spiel. “I can email you the Powerpoint and we can go over whatever you want on Monday.” 

“Ah, no. I was wondering if you were coming with us,” Namjoon mutters sheepishly. 

You’re surprised, even moreso when Irene and Yerin insist that you should go. “Yes, you have to go!” Yerin bounces in her seat.

“Oh,” you blush, “I can’t. I don’t normally go on these things, wouldn’t it be weird to have your teacher at your party?” 

“Hell no!” Yerin gasps shamelessly. It’s one thing you liked about this class, after class is over, they always managed to make you feel normal. Maybe it’s the closeness in age and education, but they remind you so often that you’re still  _ young _ . After all, they weren’t Illyrian, and while outside of class they put on the whole shebang for you, it didn’t take long for them to get comfortable around you. “We can show you what real college life is like! We can roast barbeque on the beach and tell scary stories!” 

Taehyung snorts, already halfway out the door, “I’m sure the Princess doesn’t wanna see you shitfaced in the ocean.” 

You placate Yerin with a small smile, “I have to work after this, but I’ll see what I can do.” 

Namjoon walks up to your desk as the rest of the students file out. He runs the spine of his journal along your desk, “Prince Yoongi and Hoseok will be there too, if it makes you feel any better. Hope you can come.” 

The room is soon vacated, leaving you and your Star Student alone. 

“‘I’ll see what I can do’, really?” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, plopping himself atop your desk. Your eyes snap to the way the dark denim cords around his thighs, and you make a deal of slamming your laptop shut. “C’mon, of course you wanna come. I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

“Not really,” you admit. “I used to really like spending the weekend at the villa. I loved getting to know each class and know what it feels like to be like you guys,” you downplay yourself, stuffing books and electronics in your briefcase. “But ever since we roomed together two years ago, I can’t bring myself to go anymore. It’s not the same when you’ve actually had a taste of it.”

Jeongguk’s eyes soften at your confession. You could feel that he wasn’t prepared for your honesty, and you don’t blame him. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I leave in two weeks, you know.” 

“I know.” 

“Can you at least try to come, for me?” 

You lift your head up to reach his eyes, looking equal parts nervous and vulnerable. You’re suddenly thrusted back to two years ago, cornered in your dorm room where Jeongguk was upset at the thought of hurting him, lying to him. You didn’t want to hurt him, or yourself. 

But as Jeongguk’s large hand reaches across the desk to your smaller one, you don’t think to pull away. 

“Your Highness!” Jimin interrupts the two of you, and Jeongguk snatches his hand back with a glare. Jimin ignores him, looking breathless as he leans against the door of your classroom. “Your 3 o’clock is ready. We have to hurry if we want to get through the crowd.” 

With one last look, Jeongguk excuses himself, brushing past Jimin with a gruff “Bye, Princess.” 

* * *

“Today’s not your day to meet with citizens,” Yoongi mumbles next to you, looking disapprovingly at the way you wait for the next citizen to approach you. 

Seokjin holds the crowd off as you converse with your brother, who looks ready to leave to the villa. He’s dressed in a plain white t-shirt, foam slides and baggy slacks. If it wasn’t for the family crest proudly presented on his right breast pocket, he could easily be mistaken as the average citizen. “Mother insisted,” you reply shortly, growing more irritated by the second. 

“Really?” his brows dissapear under his bangs, “because from the way she said it, you were looking for work.” 

Caught, you turn away from his watchful gaze. “I have a problem, okay?” you say stiffly, “I needed a distraction.” 

“Alright,” Yoongi shrugs, leaning close to your ear to murmur, “where’s the dead body?” 

You slap his arm, “Yoongi! I didn’t kill anybody!” 

“At this rate, it looks like you’re wasting yourself away.” Yoongi replies bluntly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “C’mon, Loverboy was all pouty in my room not too long ago. Don’t disappoint him.” 

With that, Yoongi turns on his heel and walks off. Citizens bow at him like dominos as he exits, your break definitively over. 

Whatever is blooming between you and Jeongguk, is and never will be fair to the both of you. In your eyes Jeongguk isn’t the type to settle, not relationship-wise, but life-wise. He wanted to grow and cultivate his art, and taste freedom every step of the journey.

You weren’t freedom or growth, and you could only hope he realizes that before you become too selfish. 

“Your Highness?” you break out of your reverie when a young woman your age looks at you shyly, “My name is Wendy. I didn’t get anything for the table but, I got you a caramel macchiato.” 

She brandishes a venti iced caramel macchiato, condensation dripping from her fingers. Your face lights up, accepting the caffeinated drink. “I really needed this!” you perk up immediately, taking a sip and letting the cool flavor soothe your tastebuds. “Thank you, Wendy. What is it that you request?” 

“Advice,” she admits, a blush creeping from her neck. She looks down at her work boots, caked in grime. “I’m an engineer who works in manufacturing Illryian technology.”

“We are eternally grateful for your service to this country,” you reply evenly. Engineers are highly revered in your country, as your economy is dependent on their brilliant minds. 

“But I have fallen in love with a man who is under my station, and wishes to find work elsewhere,” she bites her lip, her eyes growing glassy. “I haven’t told him my feelings yet, however I’m also worried for my family who finds men like him to be unworthy of an engineer like myself.” 

“Ah, bound by duty and expectation.” you reply grimly, “a rock and a hard place, huh?” 

“Yes, forgive me for my crassness. I felt as if you would understand my predicament.” 

Putting your drink down, you reach for her hand. Oil and dirt cake her fingers, and she attempts to pull away as to not soil you, but you hold on tighter. “Tell him how you feel, Wendy.” you whisper, a conversation so intimate it’s only proper it be for her ears and her ears only. “Whether he leaves or not after you tell him is his decision. However, I assure you it will hurt far more if you don’t give yourself a chance.” 

Her voice cracks, “But what if it doesn’t work out?” 

You start to feel a little teary at her candor, and you run a thumb over her palm. “Then you’re one heartbreak closer to happiness. Nevertheless, you are a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman. Don’t let your fears reject that.” 

Wendy finds the strength to squeeze your hand, and you belatedly realize that if this piece of advice was personified, it’d be slapping the shit out of you. 

* * *

“You came!” 

Hopped up on bitter caffeine and potential regrets, you stand in the living room well past midnight, party in full swing. Jimin trails behind you sans iPad, feeling lighter in a pair of trunks and a black tank. A playlist of Namjoon’s organizing is blasting from the surround sound, coupled with the flatscreen television projecting an intense lap of MarioKart. Irene and Taehyung are shoulder to shoulder, concentrating on getting that Mushroom Cup. The sliding doors that lead from your villa to the beach are cracked open, wide enough to hear the conversations the other students are exchanging. 

It was always nice to have your villa occupied like this. Less empty, more familial. 

Yerin is the first to greet you, throwing her arms around you and smelling like seasalt and vodka. She’s drenching your clothes, clad in a yellow polka-dot one-piece. “This weekend’s gonna be  _ killer _ ,” she whispers in your ear, causing the hairs on your neck to rise. For a petite thing, she really wastes no time cutting to the chase. 

You detach yourself, holding up a bag of pastries. “Snagged some munchies for your inevitable drunk crash,” you smirk, placing the container on the kitchen island. 

Yerin gapes, red tinted lips mouthing an ‘o’ at your language. “You’ve been hidin’ out on us, haven’t you Princess?” Yerin then brushes past you, ready to get her fingers on the confections. You’re over her shoulder, pointing out both Illrian delicacies and pastries she’s familiar with. 

After Irene snags the Mushroom Cup they’re joining you at the island, lips coated in powdered sugar and jam. The girls laugh when some powdered sugar gets into Taehyung’s hair, Irene patting him a little too hard on his bangs. 

“You’re here!” 

You whip around to see Jeongguk sliding the glass doors hurriedly, bare feet slapping across the tiled floor to reach you. He’s dripping wet, ocean water rivering around his body. Your eyes can’t help but follow the flow of the cool liquid, finding purchase between the planes of his chest and honeyed abs, glowing from the heat. 

Three years of your life were spent studying preparation and execution for war or nuclear threat. Unfortunately, at this very moment you feel way more prepared for war than Jeon Jeongguk standing in your villa, looking like  _ that _ . 

Instead of the usual pleasantries, you hold up a leather wallet. “You left this in the classroom,” you chide. 

It’s a baldfaced lie. Somehow, Jeongguk’s wallet had conveniently ended up in your office between reams of paper. The bastard himself has the audacity to feign surprise, coral lips gaping in relief. “Wow, Princess. Totally not a ploy to get you to come here.” 

“Right.” 

“Give it here, I’ll drop it off in my room.” 

“Wait, wait!” you hold up both your hands, centimeters away from Jeongguk’s pecs. You’re nearly eye level with them, and you force yourself to look up at his smug face. “You’re dripping wet on the tile! Your feet still have sand you heathen! Do not get our carpets dirty!” you hold the wallet to your chest protectively, “where’s your room?” 

He tilts his head adorably, droplets flecking from his slicked back mane. “Third door on the right.” he doesn’t dare to argue with your sudden passion to keep your villa clean. 

You nod, “go enjoy the water. I’ll be right out.” You don’t give him a chance to reply, kicking off your sandals as you reach the cosier part of the villa. Soft carpet meets your toes as you pad off to the guest bedrooms. 

Jeongguk managed to snag the corner room, albeit smaller, it’s a single with a full mattress. You see his Superdry backpack open on the floor, its bottom worn with the white lining peeking through. Despite only arriving in the afternoon, his fresh scent is palpable. You drop the wallet on his desk, and you notice that his laptop’s still on. 

The Macbook Pro glows confidently, his screensaver revealing a photograph of you on your balcony. 

“Snooping around, Princess?” 

You whip around, seeing Jeongguk appear fully clothed, running a towel over his hair. He is no longer dripping water or sand, but he still smelled like salt and fire. He nonchalantly closes the door behind him, taking a seat at the foot of his bed. 

“You know it’s illegal to take unsolicited pictures of royalty, right?” 

“And who should I answer to, hm? The Princess?” he teases, face blooming from the fluffy white towel. 

You’re not upset about the picture, he knows that. But there you sit, slumped over his desk, looking forlornly at his picture of you. 

“I’ve locked the door,” Jeongguk pipes up, looking at you worriedly. “Yoongi mentioned that the room’s are soundproof. He said you looked upset today. Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

The room feels smaller, swallowing you whole. You’re tired from today’s events, both emotionally and physically. Jeongguk is having nothing of it, reaching between the two of you to pull the arms of the desk chair, wheeling you between his thighs. 

“Jeongguk,” you start, “why weren’t you mad at me when you were right? Right about me hiding something from you.” 

His brows furrow, “You made a sacrifice and protected your brother. Why would I be mad at that?” he says honestly, “sure, I was upset at first. Who wouldn’t be? But you did it out of love.” 

You smile wanly, knowing that there wasn’t going to be a chance that he’d be upset at you. It was out of your devices. “I wanted you to be mad,” you admit, wringing your fingers between your skirt, “it would’ve made it easier to leave.” 

“It would’ve, wouldn’t it?” he replies, his voice cotton soft. “After you left, Yoongi wouldn’t let me talk to you on the phone. Said you needed time. But I got him to tell me stories about you, stories that made me realize that I missed getting to know you.” 

It’s then you feel the weight of today express itself onto your cheeks, the wetness dampening your skin. You feel his thumb brush away the tears. 

“Tell me,” Jeongguk requests softly, “tell me what you really feel.” 

You let your head collapse in his hands, relishing the warmth and comfort it brings. “I feel hurt. And confined.” 

“More,” Jeongguk bids, his other hand squeezing your thigh, “let it out, Princess.” 

_ You are a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman. Don’t let your fears reject that. _

“I miss acting like fools at the grocery store, falling on top of each other half-asleep.” Everything tumbles out shamelessly, like a waterfall. “I hate how  _ frustrated _ I am when you call me Princess, because while it is my title, it turns me on in the most devastating way when you say it.” you drop your head in the crook of his neck, embarrassed to see his reaction. “I want to laugh with you, hold you, I want you, so badly. But I want you to be happy, to make music and art, and travel the world to find your muse,” you shake your head, pushing yourself away from him. “I feel so stuck here, I can’t hold you back when you’re free and—”

“That’s enough bullshit,” and he’s kissing you, a clashing of teeth that has you sensitive and reeling. His hands grasp your cheeks, and you’re stumbling in your chair as the wheels make moves on their own. You squeak against his lips before you’re wheeled back to the bed. Hot hands pull you forward to teeter your body onto the bed, keeping you in place. 

The man in question breaks apart, but close enough that his lips brush against yours when he speaks, “I’ve never kissed a princess before,” Jeongguk says wryly, cupping your cheek, “but if you make one more gripe about freedom and your stupid self-righteousness and I’ll stop.” 

A pure, unprepared whine escapes your lips, shame be damned. 

“You’re my muse,” he plants a kiss on your forehead, “I bothered Yoongi for weeks, working tooth and nail for that scholarship,” a kiss on both your nose, “you’re what it means to feel free.” 

And that’s all it takes for you to surge forward, toppling over him until he’s pushed against the headboard. Capturing your lips with his, you catch droplets of saltwater and a flavor that’s so distinctly Jeongguk, feeling high off the taste. 

Your skirt rides to your waist, your underwear damp from the ocean and arousal. You straddle him, feeling so unbounded and free as Jeongguk lets you do what you’ve both wanted to do. With a roll of your hips Jeongguk grunts, forehead pressed to yours. “Princess,” he rasps, meeting your thrusts, “we have until Christmas to do this, no need to rush.” 

_ Wait, Christmas _ ? 

Jeongguk grins, kissing away your surprise. For now, you’ll ignore the burn between your thighs. “Before we left today, Yoongi and I asked the King, your father, if he would consider extending my scholarship for a full semester. I mentioned that Yoongi and I had some unfinished projects from undergrad,” he pecks your lips, “and he’s going to help me produce a full album for my final thesis.” 

“That’s amazing!” you cheer, pulling him into a hug. “I’m so proud of the two of you!” 

“Mhm,” he nuzzles your neck, pressing featherlight kisses to your skin, “can’t produce anything without my muse around, so I’d say Illyria is the perfect location.” 

Your fingers thread into his damp locks, and you feel your heart swell with happiness. Here, under the gaze of the boy who wanted to offer you his heart and his world, you felt free. 

* * *

_ bonus. _

It takes the strength of both your hands to pull Jeongguk in the storage closet, but it isn’t like he’s putting up a fight anyhow. 

“Come here often?” you drawl, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Impressive,” he chuckles, “usually it takes you an hour to shake Jimin off ya. It’s only been thirty-five minutes.” 

“I just wanted to show you something funny,” you pull up your Instagram, and play the featured video. Jeongguk is dashing around the palace, sweating bullets and cooing “c’mon Dixie!” to the sprinting chicken in the throne room. “You’re viral! You put Illyria on the social media map!” 

Under the lowlights, it’s still easy to see Jeongguk’s skin has gone placid. “If I ever hit it big, that shit better not haunt me,” he groans into your neck. 

“Please,” you roll your eyes, “every famous person has a backstory. Aubrey Graham had Degrassi and the Yodeling Wal-Mart boy–”

“Are you really gonna compare your boyfriend to the Yodeling Wal-Mart kid? Tell me what you really came here for,” And like a teenager, Jeongguk reels it back in, winding his hands around your waist. He gives you bedroom eyes like it's a session of  _ Seven Minutes in Heaven, _ “so, we’re gonna make out or what?” 


End file.
